Oh, Sweet England
by AnorexicWalrus
Summary: America takes England to a football match for his birthday, but there is a surprise waiting there for the Briton. USUK.


**America x England – Oh, Sweet England**

"Hey, England!" America sang, walking into the bedroom with a tray full of eggs, bacon, toast, and a tantalising cup of tea, "Guess where I'm taking you for your birthday!"

England hummed thoughtfully as he accepted the tray. He didn't bother thanking America as he expected the lad to know that he was so grateful for everything he did already. "I'm not very good at guessing games, America, so why don't you just tell me already?"

America waggled his fingers and pouted so that his lips resembled that of a miffed goldfish's, "Nu-uh! You have to guess at least once or I'm not telling you nothing."

England sighed in defeat and resigned to nibbling on the edge of his toast as he wondered why on earth he put up with this American and his constant beating around the bush. "Are you taking me to a bowling alley where you can get me well and truly drunk at the bar before fucking me behind the bins round the back?" America leant forwards to give England a look which asked him to be serious, "Or perhaps you wish to take me to visit the queen merely so that you can pull faces at the palace guards? I do not wish to do such a thing. I see her all the bloody time for work matters, and today is my day off."

America exhaled, "Dude, I tried to make the guards laugh one time. One time!"

"Two." England corrected him as he lifted up his tea.

America frowned, "Okay, two then, fair enough."

"Or was it three? Actually, I firmly believe it was four. Yes, four. Until you then put it up to five. Ah, but it was only last month that-"

"Yeah, okay, I do it all the time!" America chortled, giving England a friendly swipe on the shoulder, "Gimme a break! I'm American, for crying out loud!"

"Need you remind me?" England chortled as well, settling down as he took a sip of his tea. It was a hearty feeling as the warm liquid slid down his throat; a good start to the day. "And so, I have guessed not once, but twice, thus I deserve to now be told where on earth you intend to take me today."

"Well, I'm glad you asked," America winked, waggling his hands about in a jazzy way.

"I didn't ask. I requested. If I had asked you then it would have been in an interrogative sentence, but it was in an indirect-"

"Yeah, yeah," America pinched England's lips together, earning a disgruntled snarl from the other man, "but that's not the point, England. The point is that today, on your birthday, I intend to take you to…a soccer match!"

"Oh, you're so romantic."

America's face fell, "What, you don't like the idea?"

"Oh, no, I love it. I am rather a fan of football, as all countries are. However, I just wanted to comment on how unromantic it was."

"What about if I make love to you behind the trash cans later?"

"Replace those with closed doors and you're on."

* * *

England was ecstatic. His team was winning against America, three-nil. If they could keep this pace up they would most definitely win! It was all England could do to scrunch his hands into balls, much resembling the one included in the game, and bite on his lower lip so as to stop himself from whooping and cheering in the way a proper gentleman never would.

He turned to America, all smug smirks and raised eyebrows, "How does it feel to be on the losing team?"

America smiled, and England blushed as he ruffled his blonde locks, "It's okay, I'm a big boy now. I can handle it."

England pulled away from the ruffling, chortling giddily, "Yeah, try saying that when you're bawling at the end of the game because I've won."

"_You _won't be the winner, man. Your nation's _team _will be the winners."

"Same difference." England shrugged, turning back to the game, his smile growing again as his team went up four-nil. He was feeling quite proud – normally his nation's team didn't do so well, but just _look _at them now! Either the American's were lagging or the English were at the top of their game; he didn't know which it was, but he didn't care as long as they kept it up. He fell back in his seat as the whistle blew for half time. "My, wasn't that exciting?"

"Oh, please," America waved away England's comment, "the excitement hasn't even begun."

"You're right." England grinned, "After half time the game shall commence, as shall your failure."

America chortled, and England could sense a hint of mischief in his reply, "That's not what I was talking about."

England sat up then, frowning, "You can't be referring to the half time entertainment. It's a load of tripe, really." He repressed a shiver as he thought about the singing and dancing which was all far too overzealous.

"Well, usually, yeah," America smiled, looking down now at the opposing teams getting into a formation (England guessed it was for the sake of singing) on the pitch, "but this time there's something special about it."

"Oh?" England cocked his head, "And what is-?"

England's voice was suddenly drowned out by a multitude of brass instruments. He squirmed in his seat, surprised, and blushed as America laughed at his astonishment. And why on earth wasn't America stunned too? It wasn't like he had been expecting it.

Or had he?

"This song is a request by Alfred F. Jones!" announced the intercom, and England's eyes widened as he shot America a questioning look, but only got a smile in return.

And then that familiar song began, but England was more in awe than shocked. He gazed around the stadium, amazed, as all the viewers of the game, including the footballers being viewed, broke out into song in perfect harmony, as if they'd practiced.

_Oh, sweet England, how we love you!  
The pride of English countryside!  
Oh, sweet England, we'll be with you  
For you to fill us full of pride!_

_Never in our lifetime could we leave you,  
Even when you have to go abroad!  
We'll be out there looking to support you  
And cheer each golden goal that's scored!_

England then turned to America, and failed to stifle a laugh as he too was singing; but not only that, he was standing up on his seat, using loads of inane hand gestures and bellowing out the lyrics. England was embarrassed and pleased to be with him in the same instance. When the time came to repeat _"Oh, sweet England, how we love you" _America looked down at England and winked as he sang _"Oh, sweet England, how _I _love you"_, holding out his hands to the smaller nation in a warm gesture. England tittered as he took those hands and was lifted up by the silly lad to stand on the chairs with him. He was even more so delighted as America continued shaping the lyrics to suit him:

"_The pride that you can give to _me_!  
Oh, sweet England, _I'll _be with you!  
It's _England _that I love!"_

America stopped singing then and looked down in endearment at the flushed cheeks and bright green orbs of the Englishman he was holding close to his side. He had at first been worried that England would hate this kind of thing, feeling embarrassed and singled-out, and would kick Florida, exclaiming negative thoughts about him, before storming off. However, luckily for America (and Florida), the birthday boy seemed to love it. "Happy birthday, Artie." he cooed, pushing stray locks of blonde hair out of England's smiling face and resting his hand on his pink cheek.

"You're a buffoon." England replied, getting up on his tip-toes so as to steal a kiss. There was no need to steal though, as America happily complied. He had been called a buffoon for his actions, but this kiss was assuredly his thanks. His being thanked continued even as the crowd drew out the last note and clapped and cheered, seating themselves down so as to get back to the game. England and America wouldn't have minded standing on their seats forever, above and away from the rest of the audience, but the people behind them were getting a little vexed at their lack of view, so they reluctantly broke the kiss and sat.

"How did you do this?" England whispered, taking a hold on America's hand and staring into him with wide eyes.

"Well," America chortled, "when you're the United States of America, there isn't much you can't do."

England shook his head and sighed out of a mix of exasperation and adoration, "You wave your status around too much."

"Anything for you, darling." America grinned, turning back to the game and the American team's failure continued failure. England however continued to stare up at those cerulean pools and that golden hair and goofy grin for a few moments longer before turning to face the game again, this time resting his head on America's shoulder, who in turned rested his head on England's mess of hair.

"This still lacks romance though."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Behind the trash cans later, I promise."

* * *

America chugged down another cup of coffee, a proud, confident smile stuck on his face since the other day with England. It had been far more successful than he had ever dreamed, and he loved the elated feeling which followed.

"America," France sighed, "what if England finds out?" He rested his suave face in his hands as he questioned the American, wondering how he could drink _that much coffee_.

"Hmm?" America hummed mid-sip, "Finds out what?"

"You know," France drawled, "that you used your authority and your money to convince your nation's team to lose against England the other day."

America guffawed, "No way he'll find out, man. Only you and I know, and I'm not going to tell him. If you don't want to snap his pride, you won't either. He was so happy when he won six-nil!"

France exhaled, leaning back in his chair, "I suppose it couldn't hurt just this once." France's consent was ignored though as England entered the meeting room and America bounded up to him like a puppy greeting its master, wagging its tail a mile a minute. He didn't mind though as he saw them share a small smile and look of endearment (only small, seeing as they were in a public and professional environment) and a chaste kiss before parting ways to their own seats to sort out documents and what-not.

_Oui_, thought France, _I suppose it couldn't hurt at all._

* * *

**Author's notes: So here's one for England's birthday! Happy birthday, my dear country! I love you very much!  
For those who care, here is the song used: .com/watch?v=Du0dqQ3hr-0**

**Disclaimer: America, England and France belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**AnorexicWalrus~**


End file.
